Mary
by abcakes
Summary: Mary Winchester, badass beauty queen with a flare for the outrageous. Daughter of the infamous Dean Winchester, the man who gives the bogeyman shakes when night comes around. Despite Dean's constant effort of trying to give her a normal life (as normal as you can get with a hunter's life.), Mary ends up on the hunt with him. Read "Mary" by abcakes to find out where their lives go!
1. Before

_Flames leapt higher and higher, blinding every spot of her vision with their taunting hellish dance. They licked at her arm hungrily, almost as if they had been starved for years and the only thing they now knew how to do was eat. Eat. Eat!_

_ Every breath she took was a rattling gasp; lungs filling with a tar like fluid slowly as she inhaled more and more smoke. A choking cough ripped through her, arms tensing in pain the force was so tremendous. She was backing up, slowly, away from the all-consuming flames that had already eaten at most of the room. _

_ Eyes going wide, she felt her hand touch the wall behind her. Her gaze left the flame for a moment, glancing behind her to see the horrible colored wallpaper that may mean her doom. _

_ Only an hour ago had her father kissed her forehead softly, doing the same to her little brother before walking out, their uncle at his side. "We'll only be gone for a little, baby." He said gently, smoothing down the hair on her head with a smile. She had nodded eagerly, smiling back at him._

_ And then the fire started. _

_ She had managed to get both her little brother and cousin out, and was in the clear herself until she realized the familiar weight on her neck was missing. She had clutched at her throat, eyes wide as she shared a look with her cousin. It was the last thing she truly had of her mother—she couldn't lose it in a fire._

_ Fingers had grabbed at the fabric of her shirt as she turned and ran back into danger, back into the flame, almost suicidal in the notion. Heat scoured every inch of her, diving deep into her very being as it teased its way closer, closer, and closer yet._

_ She shook her head to clear it, back against the wall as her fist clenched over the locket once more, hand going over her heart as she closed her eyes in fear. Flame and ash and smoke and flame and ash and smoke! The rhythm pounded along with her heart, the beat so strong she could feel it in her wrists._

_ There was a crack, a ripping noise, and a shower of hot sparks falling down as her realm of space was suddenly cut in half. A cry split from her as a few fell on her arm, searing the flesh with a terrifying sizzling sound._

_ Swatting at them wildly, she found that she no longer had even the strength to cry. If she could, she highly doubted she would be able to, as the heat had already dried up most of the water sustained in her small body._

_ Sliding down, she watched with fear in her eyes and pain in her chest, as the flames grew ever closer, engorged with the lust of death. Fires in movies always seemed to go much slower, but her imagination sparked as she imagined the fire as a monster, the only driving power behind him the urge to kill seven-year-old girls._

_ There was another cracking noise, something being slammed into another. But she couldn't hear it. The sound of flame, of monster, of lusting beast was the only thing scorched into her mind as she shut her eyes in fear, giving into the lapse of sleep that had been threatening to overtake her for so long._

_ "Mary!"_


	2. Then

"Mary."

Her eyes snapped open suddenly and she sat up with a start, head slamming into the top of the car. Hand rising to her forehead, Mary let out a string of curses, pushing hair out of her face as she sat back in her seat.

Dean chuckled lowly, looking at her. "You alright there?"

Mary said nothing, glaring at him. If anyone was to be blamed, it was her father. After all—he had been the one to wake her. "We there yet?" She asked groggily, blinking to clear her vision, the haze of sleep still covering her eyes.

"Not yet," Dean replied, eyes going back to the dark road ahead of them before they darted to her once more. "You okay, baby?"

"Besides a throbbing head and a crick in my neck, yes." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she looked out of the car's window, pulling at the ties of her sweatshirt. The moon shone through the thicket of trees, casting an extra light on the world below, cut in half by the highway they traveled alone on.

"I mean, did you have a nightmare. You were shaking in your sleep."

"What? Oh. Yeah."

There was a pause.

"Well? Do you want to talk about it?" Her father asked slowly, knowing that if Mary was anything like him—and she was, more than he would have liked—she wouldn't want to talk about it. Dean was very easily okay with this; Elle had always been better at talking than he was.

"No." The answer was short, simple, and to the point. Inwardly, both sighed in relief. Talking wasn't really either of their best feature. Now, if you asked either of them to find and fix the problem in a car, they could have it fixed and done with within minutes of your asking.

Silence lapsed over them again, Mary leaning her head against the cold window as her eyes started to flutter shut once more. Some old rock song played in the background; sound so low she could barely tell what it was, regardless of hearing her father hum it in the background. The low purr of the impala was a dull mute inside the cabin, an almost lullaby to the both of them due to years spent in the old car. Mary was almost convinced that the day the car died, she would as well. If not her than her father.

Dean's head nodded along with the beat of the song as he hummed to it, soft enough not to disturb Mary next to him. The poor girl had inherited his habit of not being able to sleep well after hunts, rather getting nightmares than much needed and well deserved sleep. Among other bad habits she had inherited from him, this was usually the one that affected her most.

Looking over at her for a moment, he watched her right hand fiddle with the strings of her fading maroon hoodie, one an English teacher had given her when she moved away from the school. Mary wasn't one for sentiment, but this was one of the few things she had managed to hold onto after all these years.

Reaching out, he captured a hand in his own, large one encompassing her smaller hand. Smiling to himself, he noticed how her hand was always cold, something she had inherited from her mother. Even if Mary was ninety-nine percent Dean, one percent of her was still her mom.

_Actually,_ Dean thought. _Take away the dark blonde hair, green eyes and jawline; you'd get mostly Elle's looks. Eleanor would be so proud of her._

Mary's eyes met his own after a second, smiling at him softly before Dean's eyes went back to the road. Just another day on the hunt.


End file.
